On the Death of a Neighbor

On the Death of a Neighbor
by Joan Glass
We passed each other every day
riding in or out of the neighborhood.
Sometimes if it could not be avoided
we waved or made small talk.
One hot afternoon he inadvertently
cut me off just before pulling into
our street, then waved me over to
pull alongside him, apologizing too loudly.
When he rolled the window down,
I could tell he’d been drinking.
His mirrored sunglasses blinded me.
When he called me “cutie pie”
I realized that after all these years
he still did not know my name.
What does one say upon
the death of a neighbor?
He took care of his land,
went to work every day.
He always minded
his own business.

Leave a Reply